


The Battle of Life

by Lisafer



Series: The Dickens Arc [13]
Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Dickens Arc, F/M, Family, multi-gen romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of his days, Wyldon and Keladry share one last quiet moment together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Battle of Life

“Stay with me, Keladry,” he requested, his voice hoarse. 

She set the bowl of barely-touched soup on the table next to the door. “I’m not going anywhere.” Taking a deep breath, she gained control of her emotions – always on the verge of slipping out of her tight command these days – before walking back to his bedside. 

“I’m glad,” he whispered. 

“Shhh. You shouldn’t waste energy talking to me.” She took his hand in hers, bringing it to her lips. He was declining before her eyes, each day coming a little bit closer to the end. His pain had increased, as the healers said it would. Neal had offered as much help as he could, but even he – a man who gave up on very few patients – said there was little that could be done, apart from keeping him comfortable. 

“Thank… you,” he said, squeezing her hand. She remembered a time when those large hands had an unbreakable grip. When he released her, he very slowly reached up to touch her face, her hair. It was as white as her mother’s. It started to change when she was only thirty-five; now, eighteen years later, her head was entirely whitened.

“Nonsense,” she whispered, fighting the urge to cry. He was so frail these days, it was hard to recall in this eighty-three-year-old man the unyielding and powerful fighter he had once been. 

“Ewain?”

“Remember? He’s in Maren, with the delegation that’s been sent with the prince.” He had offered to stay, several months before, but Wyldon had urged him to go. No one had realized, at that point, how little time was left. She ached to think of their son’s return, and how devastated he would be.

“Tell him…”

“Yes?”

“My sword… is his.” He smiled, ever so slightly. “Unless… he’s holding out… for yours.”

“You should try to sleep,” Kel said, caressing his cheek. “Should I get Neal to ease your pain?”

He shook his head, just barely. “It’s time, Keladry.”

She didn’t know how he knew – perhaps he could see the Black God in the room with them – but she believed him. “Your daughters are downstairs. Do you want to see them again?” They had been at Cavall for the last week and had spent that afternoon with their father.

“Already said… my goodbyes,” he rasped. “Want to spend my last moment… with you.”

Kel’s chest constricted, and the restraint she had over her tears was lost. They flowed freely down her cheeks, the finality of his illness finally sinking in. They’d had fewer than thirty years together, and how many of those days, weeks and months had they spent apart, in service to the crown? And now, hearing him state that this was their final moment together, Kel couldn’t help but think of how empty the future would be without him. She kissed him, wishing she could will her own life into his.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. His own dark eyes were wet, though she could not tell if it was from pain or love. Maybe both. “Keladry…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t… give up.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant, and asked. 

“Love… it might find you… again. Like you found me.”

Kel nodded, clutching both of his hands in hers. 

“Keep your heart… open. When I’m… gone… bury me…”

“Next to Vivenne’s grave,” she finished, squeezing his hands. “I know.”

“Take care of my girls,” he said, his voice stronger with his determination.

“Always.”

“They promised… to look out… for you.” He closed his eyes, saying nothing for a very long time. Kel watched his chest, and his labored breathing; with each inhalation she held her breath, and exhaled when he did. His breaths were slowing. 

“Love… you.” It was barely a whisper, and he took only two more breaths.

“I love you, too,” she answered, though she knew he would not hear her words.


End file.
